Free Web NovelChapter 142: Chosen Resistance
Aveline’s first instinct was to step forward.
Her body had already shifted before her mind caught up, one foot moving out from behind the trees. But she stopped herself at the last second and remained hidden among the shadows of the bushes, her fingers curling lightly around the bark beside her.
This... did not seem like something that required her involvement.
At least, not yet.
Her eyes stayed fixed on the lightning crackling in the silver-haired boy’s hands. Truthfully, it was impressive. If she had witnessed this before meeting Aelion, she might have stood there in awe. Creating lightning from nothing was not something ordinary people could do. Even the air around it trembled faintly with heat and power.
But after seeing Aelion’s lightning...
This felt small.
Weak.
Almost pitiful.
She still remembered the creature in the corridor—the monstrous Noctyrr being driven backward by the sheer force of Aelion’s strike, its gigantic body crackling and smoking long after the lightning had touched it. That had not merely been power. It had felt alive. Violent. Divine.
Compared to that, the lightning before her now looked like a sputtering spark trying to imitate a storm.
Maybe this was nothing serious.
Maybe this was simply brothers roughhousing too aggressively.
Noble boys seemed strange enough for that.
That was what Aveline told herself at first.
But then...
Aelion did not dodge.
And that was what made unease begin to coil inside her stomach.
Because judging from what she had already seen him capable of, avoiding that attack should have been effortless for him. Childishly easy. Yet he remained there on his knees as the lightning struck him across the shoulder with a sharp crack.
His body jerked violently.
The others laughed.
Aveline frowned.
Something was wrong.
The tallest boy crouched slightly, grabbing a fistful of Aelion’s silver hair and forcing his head back. He whispered something near his ear, something too low for Aveline to hear, but whatever it was made the others snicker cruelly.
Then another punch landed against Aelion’s stomach.
Another against his jaw.
Another burst of lightning.
And still... Aelion did not fight back.
The realization unsettled her more than the violence itself.
The four boys took turns as though this were some practiced ritual. One held him down while another struck him. Then they switched places casually, comfortably, laughing between blows as if tormenting him was entertainment.
They shoved him.
Mocked him.
Pulled at his hair hard enough to snap his head back.
One of them kicked the back of his knee, forcing him lower onto the dirt.
And through all of it, Aelion remained silent without any arrogance, any retort, and any resistance.
The boy who always carried himself with infuriating elegance now looked strangely hollow beneath their hands, like someone enduring something long familiar.
Aveline’s brows slowly drew together.
The wind stirred softly through the trees above them, carrying fragments of their laughter through the shaded alleyway. It sounded ugly to her ears now.
And suddenly, all the small things she had noticed before began fitting together in her mind.
The way Aelion concealed his abilities. freeωebnovēl.c૦m
The fear in his eyes when she mentioned lightning.
The desperation in his voice when he told her not to reveal it.
The shadows she saw twisting around his face whenever his family was mentioned. Was it fear?
Aveline’s chest tightened unexpectedly.
One of the boys struck Aelion hard enough that blood appeared at the corner of his mouth this time.
And still... He did not retaliate.
Why? Why was someone powerful enough to wound monsters allowing this to happen?
The thought struck Aveline with an unexpected force.
Unless... he believed he deserved it.
The idea unsettled her more than the sight of the boys beating him. It sat in her chest like a stone, heavy and cold, because she knew that kind of silence. She knew what it looked like when someone endured pain without resistance, not because they were weak, but because somewhere deep inside, they had accepted it as their lot in life.
And she could not stand there anymore.
She stepped out from behind the trees.
"Boys," she called, her voice carrying more steadiness than she felt, "having fun?"
She had no clear plan. No brilliant strategy. Only the sharp, restless certainty that she could not keep watching.
The boys turned toward her, and the reaction was immediate.
The tallest one let out a coarse laugh. "Isn’t this the bastard’s bastard maker?"
The others erupted with him, their voices ugly with amusement.
"She’s pretty," one of the younger boys said, eyes sweeping over her with crude interest.
Another snorted. "Pretty and stupid."
The rest howled at that as though it were the cleverest thing any of them had ever said.
Aveline merely rolled her eyes. Their laughter sounded small to her now. Pathetic.
Then Aelion’s voice cut through the noise, low and furious. "What are you doing here?" he shouted, his head snapping toward her. "Just leave!"
Aveline blinked in confusion.
He had not sounded like that when they were striking him. Not once. His anger seemed aimed at her now, and that only made her frown deepen.
Was that not a little unacceptable?
One of the boys grinned and started toward her with slow, deliberate confidence. "Look at him," he drawled, glancing back at Aelion. "So eager to protect his woman. Should we help him?"
The words made Aveline’s skin go cold.
She could see it all too clearly now.
The swagger in his steps. The smug curve of his mouth. The way his eyes dragged over her with familiar, ugly intent.
She knew that look.
She remembered it from Willowgrave.
From the man who had meant to take what he wanted from her and leave her with nothing but fear.
Her hands clenched at her sides. Her breathing sharpened. The world around her seemed to narrow until there was only that boy, only that memory, only the sudden, furious certainty that she would not be cornered like that again.
Her eyes hardened as she stared at him.
"Run," Aelion shouted again.
Aveline wanted to. Instinct screamed at her to turn and flee. But then she remembered something else.
She was not that girl from Willowgrave anymore. She was not helpless. She was not waiting to be saved.
So she planted her feet firmly into the ground and did not move.
---
High above them, on the rooftop overlooking the alley, a dark figure stood motionless in the wind.
Theron watched from the shadows, his gaze fixed entirely on Aveline.
Her face. Her stance... The way she stood there with all the stubbornness of someone who had already been hurt too many times and refused to bend any further.
Ever since he had seen her in the corridor, something in him had felt wrong. Unsettled. Drawn. He had followed that feeling here without fully understanding why, and now he stood watching as that strange ache in his chest only deepened.
Does she need help?
The thought came before he could stop it.
And then, more quietly, more painfully than he expected: Why does my heart hurt looking at her?
A swirl of darkness moved beside him. Kael emerged from it like a shadow given form, his expression grave as he glanced down at the alley below. One look was enough for him to understand the scene.
"Sire," he said quietly, "it appears she is Lord Aelion Sylvarien’s marked woman."
Theron’s hand curled tightly into a fist.
Marked woman.
The words should have meant nothing. They should have passed through him like any other courtly nonsense.
Instead, they hit him like a blade under the ribs.
He swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as an unpleasant heat rose in his chest, bitter and sharp enough to make his stomach turn.
"She’s Aelion’s woman?" he muttered under his breath.
The question was not really a question at all.
It was disbelief.
Something far uglier was beginning to coil inside him, something he did not yet have a name for, only a pulse of dark resistance that made the air around him feel too tight.
He did not understand why it mattered.
He only knew that it did.
